


Dissociate

by kittynightterrors



Series: Torture Tuesday [2]
Category: Inception
Genre: Gen, Sensory Deprivation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-22
Updated: 2019-05-22
Packaged: 2020-03-09 10:54:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18915511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittynightterrors/pseuds/kittynightterrors
Summary: When your senses are gone, how can you tell if you're awake or if you're dreaming? When you dream for a living, how do you tell if you're dreaming or if you're awake?





	Dissociate

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tony](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tony/gifts).



> Over on tumblr [barb-aricyawp](https://barb-aricyawp.tumblr.com) has Torture Tuesday, which is where people send them prompts involving a character and a method of torture. Every now and then I participate. My friend sent me: Eames and Sensory Deprivation. Also, hi, I've only ever RP'd Inception, never actually written a drabble for it.

“Pain is in the mind.” 

Mal’s words bounced around his head as he tried to make his way around… where ever he was. He couldn’t move his arms, he couldn’t speak or see or hear a fucking thing. He woke up here… or he was in a dream here? Without his senses he couldn’t tell if he was dreaming or awake. He vaguely remembered Cobb and Arthur being around him, but…

Aggravation and desperation rose in his chest and the only thought was: I have to wake up. He moved his foot against the ground, trying to look for some sort of wall. When he found it, he took a several steps back trying to psych himself up for what would be one of his worst deaths in the dream world. 

“I’ll feel it, but it won’t be real,“ he thought to himself as he started to run toward the wall, head down and ready to slam into what he hoped was a concrete wall. He would only have to do that… too many times, but it would work. Except the wall was padded heavily and he just bounced backwards a little bit. 

Still, Eames got up and tried this again and again until he could feel something: pure and utter exhaustion. He dropped to the ground and let his ragged breathing be the only certain in his life. Sharp, heavy, and painful.

At some point he stopped breathing so heavy. At some point he got up and tried to smash his skull into the wall again. At some point he screamed around the gag. At some point he cried. At some point…. 

At some point he could hear again! The voice sounded like Mal’s, sweet and horrifying all wrapped together. 

“Pain is in the mind.” 

That mantra was all he could hear. It was real, real noise, not just a thought. It was as if Mal was next to him, and Eames wanted to reach out and touch her! She had to be there because her voice was so fucking clear and so fucking far away. It was like she was whispering in his ear. He swore he could smell her perfume, and feel her hair against his ear. She had to be there, because if she wasn’t then this was in his mind. And if this was in the mind then Eames wanted to die, to really die. Not in the dream world, but to truly embrace a real death.

Suddenly, everything is too loud, too bright, too heavy. He tried to shield his eyes with his arms, but he’s too tired, he just lets th white and anxiety completely envelop him. Before this, Eames would have put up a fight, but now… now Eames just wants to die. And to stop hearing her fucking voice!

“You’re much harder to break than Arthur.”

When that voice came back, it didn’t mimic the phrase from when he had been…where ever he had been. Instead it was somewhere between complimentary and condescending. His eyes were finally adjusting to the light and he could see Mal standing in front of him. She was both the most beautiful and the most ugly thing in the world all at once. Slowly his came up and touched her arm, making sure she wasn’t a hallucination, that he wasn’t too far gone. He could see a smile on her face, then he noticed something red between his fingers. It was a poker chip. It looked like his poker chip. 

“Mal…” If there had been any fight left in him, it died seeing his totem in the hands of someone else. 

“Wake up, Eames.”

The gun cocked and then he was awake, laid out on the ground with the needle in his arm. He looked around and realized he was completely alone. He wanted to say he was happy to be awake, but he could still feel a nervous twitch about him. He could swear he could still smell her near him. It might have been a dream, but it was no less real.


End file.
